


your patient trembling eyes unwind me

by goukyorin (sashimisusie)



Category: Persona 4
Genre: First Time, M/M, PWP, underage bc high school boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 02:33:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4504332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sashimisusie/pseuds/goukyorin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a story to everything. Some are more mundane than most but there other stories, other things that the unquiet inside him sharpens its teeth for, that Souji would rather keep to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your patient trembling eyes unwind me

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [your hands amaze me still](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4497633) by [sinagtala (strikinglight)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strikinglight/pseuds/sinagtala). 



> Written to the tune of the [Crywolf - Angels EP](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AXXvuCkxSxg).

There is a story to everything.

Some are more mundane than most, such as why fire dies in the absence of oxygen, the reason for the exhaustion that follows the tail-end of a long day and longer night shift, or how a troop of Inaba cats manages to find their way to the Dojima residence every morning without fail. And there must be some reason for the fog that creeps, tendril-like with unnatural thickness, under doors and through unseen cracks. The search for it draws their haphazard band of misfits and well-intentioned miscreants together, a merry band of truth-seekers picking up the scattered crumbs of a story and hungry for more.

But there other stories, other things that the unquiet inside him sharpens its teeth for, that Souji would rather keep to himself.

Yosuke moves a lot. Chie fidgets too, a tap-tap of the back of her pencil against the desk, but it's nothing quite like the rhythmic drumming across the pages of a neglected textbook that draws his attention in between circled notes. A decisive flick of Souji's gaze in battle has him cataloguing the up-down of the knives in his partner's hands, the arc of metal flashing quick in the air before coming to rest for the briefest of moments. Wind suits him, he thinks, constant movement as a reminder that he's alive, and that Yosuke's knees buckle with the lightning crackle that Souji shrugs off is merely a note to be tucked away for later safekeeping.

Yosuke talks a lot, the lift of his voice in greeting every morning a ritual now. He hums to music in his headphones, and complains loudly at the piles of homework he rests his tousled head upon. He says what needs to be said, laying out the obvious in paths for the rest to follow, yet still manages to stumble headfirst blindly on a road of his own making. It's a talent, probably, acquired through years of speaking to fill the silence because even laughter--derisive or not--is sometimes better than the emptiness of silence.

It isn't, but when Souji traces slow circles with his tongue-counterpoint to rub of his fingers against the bones of Yosuke's spine-he breathes in the gasp of something meant only for his ears to hear, and finds he could get used to the shuddering rasp of his name falling from kiss-bruised lips.

"I never knew I had such heat inside," Yosuke murmurs as the flush spills across his cheeks, and it's only a matter of time and a slim thigh pressed between Souji's legs before the fire licks at his heels too and he arcs closer to the air he needs to breathe before whispering, "Neither did I."

"Shh," Souji murmurs with less composure than usual, winding his hands down to the sharpness of his hips, touch hungrier with each flash of skin searing-hot beneath his fingertips. What if someone hears them through the paper-thin walls, he doesn't say preoccupied as he is, but still finds the time in between bites to laugh as Yosuke shoves him back playfully.

He doesn't have all the endings nor does he have all the answers. But somehow, somehow, he think he'll manage--they'll manage--when Yosuke shifts his hips up and groans his name before spilling hot across his bare chest. The room in front of Souji falls away to stardust and fire-light, the shape of it shrinking to just the two of them, together. They'll write the pages of this one side by side, hands clasped and slightly sticky, sheets wrinkling and rustling like paper as they move.

It's a story to be remembered in a lonely bedroom three cities away, to be cherished as he texts with half-asleep fingers and wonders when he stopped being able to sleep without the sound of someone else's voice wishing him a good night.


End file.
